n whether he had not bought his peace at too great a cost to
David. He knew by that time that it was not fear, but pride, which had
sent him back empty-handed, the pride of making his own way. And now and
then, too, he felt a perfectly human desire to let Bassett publish the
story as his vindication and then snatch David away from them all,
to some luxurious haven where--that was the point at which he always
stopped--where David could pine away in homesickness for them!

There was an irony in it that made him laugh hopelessly.

He occupied himself then with ways and means, and sold the car.
Reynolds, about to be married and busily furnishing a city office,
bought it, had it repainted a bright blue, and signified to the world at
large that he was at the Rossiter house every night by leaving it at
the curb. Sometimes, on long country tramps, Dick saw it outside a
farmhouse, and knew that the boycott was not limited to the town.

By Christmas, however, he realized that the question of meeting their
expenses necessitated further economies, and reluctantly at last they
decided to let Mike go. Dick went out to the stable with a distinct
sinking of the heart, while David sat in the house, unhappily waiting
for the thing to be done. But Mike refused to be discharged.

"And is it discharging me you are?" he asked, putting down one of
David's boots in his angry astonishment. "Well, then, I'm telling you
you're not."

"We can't pay you any longer, Mike. And now that the car's gone--"

"I'm not thinking about pay. I'm not going, and that's flat. Who'd be
after doing his boots and all?"

David called him in that night and dismissed him again, this time very
firmly. Mike said nothing and went out, but the next morning he was
scrubbing the sidewalk as usual, and after that they gave it up.

Now and then Dick and Elizabeth met on the street, and she bowed to him
and went on. At those times it seemed incredible that once he had held
her in his arms, and that she had looked up at him with loving, faithful
eyes. He suffered so from those occasional meetings that he took to
watching for her, so as to avoid her. Sometimes he wished she would
marry Wallace quickly, so he would be obliged to accept what now he knew
he had not accepted at all.

He had occasional spells of violent anger at her, and of resentment, but
they died when he checked up, one after the other, the inevitable series
of events that had led to the catastrophe. But